


Compatibilitea

by Comixgal



Series: Compatibilitea [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 01:53:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5272169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comixgal/pseuds/Comixgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson is addicted to caffeine but allergic to coffee. What's an agent to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compatibilitea

“I can’t be allergic to caffeine!” Phil insisted. “That’s impossible!”

“Rare, but not impossible.” Dr. Simmons said in her brisk voice, “And not at all what I said. You are allergic to coffee, not caffeine.”

Special Agent Phil Coulson scowled at the genius-level biologist. “Same thing.”

“Hardly!” Jemma scowled back.

“If I can’t drink coffee, what the hell am I supposed to do to wake myself up? I’m not drinking those ridiculous energy shots.”

Jemma Simmons snorted, “I should think not. Those are terrible for your heart and your health.” She smirked. “I suppose you’ll have to develop an appreciation for tea.”

With a heartfelt grimace, Coulson stalked out of the doctor’s office, grumbling audibly about condescending Brits and their love of tea.

***

A week later, Coulson could not express just how miserable he was, though all the junior agents had been made well aware of it as his legendary patience finally broke.

Melinda May was waiting in his office when he finished filing the report that explained just _why_ he had threatened to pull his weapon on an unarmed analyst.

“Get your coat.” His partner ordered, not waiting for him as she walked out into the hall.

“Where are we going?” He demanded. He wasn’t in a mood to play games.

She didn’t stop walking as she yelled, “We’re going to go see a man about a drug fix.”

Several heads popped out of doorways and then quickly back in as they took in the sour-faced man. Some of them were smirking but most just wanted Coulson to calm the fuck down and were grateful that May was doing something about it.

Phil strode down the hallway while just barely resisting the urge to punch a wall. “This had better work.” He growled.

May was silent for several blocks. “Still having caffeine withdrawal headaches?” She asked kindly.

He pulled his coat closer. “No. Those stopped a few days ago.”

“And you don’t feel any better?”

He scoffed. “I’m exhausted all the time. I can’t sleep. My appetite has gone haywire, and all I want is a cup of coffee!”

“Not better at all? How about the migraines?”

Trust his obnoxious partner to keep poking at him when he felt this wretched. It was true that the migraines had stopped and so had the strange tingling in his fingers and toes. He’d attributed both symptoms as well as the heartburn to overwork; thus the copious amounts of dark, bitter, coffee.

Dr. Simmons and the slew of other Agency doctors had been vociferously worried about the amount of medication he’d been taking to treat the symptoms. Jemma had finally, and with surprising force for such a petite woman, forced his submission to a battery of tests.

“Do this now, or when your kidneys and liver fail in a year, you will get to hear me say ‘I told you so’ every time you come in for dialysis.”

With that sort of threat hanging over his head, he’d given in to her demands.

He was struggling to keep up with his partner though normally his long legs propelled him easily through the streets of New York.

Coulson groaned when Melinda stopped in front of a small shop. “A tea house? I’m not going in there, May.”

“It’s going to rain. So either come in or get drenched on your way back to the office. Your choice.”

It didn’t occur to him to question her meteorological assessment; she was freakishly good at predicting the weather. “Fine, but I won’t like it!”

She rolled her eyes and went in.

Coulson stepped in quickly behind her and stopped dead to survey the space. He’d been expecting twinkling music, bamboo plants, and far too much faux-asian decor. Instead, it was a quiet, well-lit space with, at first count, seven different types of chairs and tables, as well as a wide bar that ran the length of the room. The walls were covered in bookshelves and art.

Phil eventually followed May up to the counter and stared at the remarkably short list of teas chalked on the wall behind it.

“Not much of a tea house with only seven choices.” He said to no one in particular.

“Actually, we have 30 different loose leaf teas so there are over a billion blends we could create.” A soft voice said from behind him. “That’s two to the thirtieth power. But not all of them would taste very good.”

Coulson spun to take in the sweet smile that invited him to join in. He scowled instead. “What is this? Fun with math?”

The blue eyes didn’t stop laughing though the smile slid easily away. “I have just the thing for you.” He turned to Melinda, “Your usual?”

“Yes, please.” She said lightly, before she gripped Coulson’s arm tightly and led him to a corner table. “Stop that!” She hissed at him as she thrust him bodily into a tall, overstuffed chair that made him instantly want to curl up and lean against the curved back that seemed to envelop him. In fact, too tired to resist, he did just that, head lolling to the side as he snuggled into the soft fabric.

May watched him. “Good. Stay there and don’t say anything other than ‘thank you’ when Clint brings your drink.”

He didn’t respond, too busy ignoring her and listening to the sounds of jars being opened and hot water being poured.

Lost a little in the unexpected pleasantness of his current situation, he didn’t register the passage of time until a soft voice said, “Tea coming up” and a hand holding a steaming cup put it on the table right next to him. Another hand held a small plate.

“Eat the crackers and hummus first. The tea will be cool enough to drink once you’re done.”

And then the hands and voice were gone.

Phil did as he’d been told, enjoying the baked pita crackers and smooth hummus. By the time he’d finished, Melinda May had returned to sit next to him. The barista - if that’s what you called a tea maker - Clint… or whatever his name was, reappeared to take the plate and hand Melinda a delicate glass cup with a metal holder. The steam smelled of mint and a hint of jasmine.

To cover up the way his nose had followed the warm scent, Phil picked up his own tea and took a quick sip. He didn’t mean to moan and stick his entire face into the wide-mouthed mug, he just couldn’t help it. It smelled like a mocha and tasted amazing. He could imagine the liquid filling his veins and making the sluggish blood move with a renewed vigor under his suddenly warm skin. When he finally looked up, laughing blue eyes met his in barely hidden pride.

“Chicory gives it a coffee flavor and bitterness. Carob gives it the chocolatey tones. It has a black tea base and I added just a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg.” The man was blushing at Coulson’s intense gaze, “I call it Rainy Day but Nat calls it Russian Winter, especially when she adds a little vodka or whiskey. I’m glad you like it.” He swept up the hummus plate, nodded to Melinda, and disappeared back to the bar.

May was watching him with the most obnoxiously smug look she could muster. She kept her eyes on him as she lifted her own tea up and inhaled appreciatively. “How’s your tea?”

The temptation to throw it at her was just barely overwhelmed by his unwillingness to part with even the slightest drop of the heaven-sent elixir. “You come here often.” It wasn’t a question.

She raised her “usual” at him in salute to this exceptional display of observational skill. He was thankful that she forwent the customary “no shit, Sherlock” in favor of selecting from a tiny plate of cookies. He reached for one, snagging it before Melinda could pull the plate away. It tasted like hibiscus and lemon. Phil immediately wanted another one to dunk into his coff-- tea.

“Order your own!” Melinda responded, protecting the last three with her body.

Phil didn’t want to get up so he slumped back down against the chair. Less than a minute later the soft voice once again spoke up, “Right behind you.”

Words couldn’t express how much Special Agent Phil Coulson appreciated both the easy warning of someone coming up behind him and the plate of cookies that were handed over. A hand covered in tiny burn marks and strange callouses spun one of the confections easily from the plate into Melinda’s lap.

“That one’s for you.”

May scooped it up and put it on her own plate. “Thanks, Clint.”

“My pleasure.” And, for the third time, he was gone.

“He must really like you.” Coulson said.

She laughed at him without explaining and then settled down to enjoy the last of her drink and treats.

Feeling more human than he had in days, Coulson was happy to sit in silence until they were both finished.

“You should go home and get some rest.” May said. They walked out into the drizzling end of a downpour that had washed clean the cold streets of the city. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She headed towards the subway stop that would bring her home.

Coulson turned to stare up at the tea house sign for a long moment before starting his own journey home.

***

Nat appeared behind the counter just as the students from Bruce’s yoga class were leaving the studio. She served out the herbal teas and fruit bowls to those who ordered them while Clint disappeared into the kitchen.

She’d teased him mercilessly when she’d first realized that he always disappeared whenever the group of women arrived. Just as the door to the yoga studio opened, he would duck into the kitchen to “check on the cookies” or “make another batch of baba ganoush.”

Natasha didn’t mind the talkative group who spoke so highly of their classes, their instructor, and the convenience of tea and a snack so close by. For their part, the students loved becoming “regulars” who could smile at her and get their preferred drinks without ordering. 

Clint figured that at least a third of Bruce’s students had been dragged to one of his yoga classes by a friend who was more than happy to feel superior and special at being recognized by the supremely patient Nat.

It wasn’t until they’d left that Clint would return to the front and the Russian woman’s biting humour would come out. Together they would make up a meal and cup for Bruce and one of them would bring it through the kitchen to the back room that both spaces shared.

This time, Clint insisted on going.

Bruce had just finished cleaning up the studio and resetting everything for his next class. He smiled shyly as Clint set down the food.

“Hi.” Clint walked across the room to meet him. He tipped his head up for a quick kiss. “Good class?”

“Yes.” Bruce was a man of few words, as if afraid that too many would break the careful physical and emotional control he’d developed over the years. He smiled down at Clint with his sleepy expression, inviting the other man to kiss him again.

“Jasmine tea and quinoa salad.” Clint informed him, resisting the invitation but just barely. Giving in could easily lead to them having sex in the back room and the last time that had happened, Bruce had been late to start his next class and Clint had returned to an entire batch of burnt scones. “Are you free tonight?” He asked instead.

“I have a date with Pepper.” Bruce informed him.

Clint nodded. “Give her my love. Tony too.”

Polyamory could be a tricky situation to navigate but Clint adored Bruce and their time together without begrudging him the relationship he’d been developing with Pepper (and possibly Tony) for the last year.

Bruce blushed. “She- they- she asked me to stay the night.”

Clint did kiss him this time. “I’m glad. Don’t forget condoms and call me in the morning.” He had to slip away again to check on the pita he’d put in the oven to turn into crackers. He could feel Bruce’s eyes watching him as he left.

***

Coulson stood outside the tea house the following morning, debating whether to enter. A steady stream of people had been coming and going all morning. Some carried yoga mats and took a left instead of a right once past the first doorway. More, however, turned right and then exited a few minutes later, a steaming cup of tea in hand. Finally, feeling too foolish to continue staring at the door and feeling the familiar need for something, _anything_ , to wake him up, he walked inside.

He almost turned around when he saw the red-headed woman and a short, busty dark-haired woman working behind the counter. Clint was nowhere to be seen and, suddenly, Coulson realized how much he wanted to see those blue eyes and hear that soft voice again.

“What can I get you?” A far-too perky voice asked. He looked down at the woman who was grinning up at him. “I’m Darcy. First time here?”

“No.” He answered gruffly. “I was here yesterday.”

“Oh! Then Clint must have served you.” She flipped a notepad that stood by the register. She looked him up and down. “Did you come in with Melinda?”

He narrowed his eyes.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She chirped. “Says here you got a Rainy Day. Completely delish, right? Let me make you something else. I promise you’ll like it.”

Completely taken aback by her manner and about to take her down a few pegs with the same tone he used on the junior agents, he caught the other woman’s eye. She was looking at him in a way that spoke volumes. She knew what he was thinking of doing and her look said very clearly, _Do it and it will be the last thing you do._

Coulson considered himself one of the bravest and certainly most difficult to intimidate in the entire Agency but the way the red-haired woman held the spoon in her hand, Coulson could tell she was just as capable of using it as a weapon as she was at lifting out precise measurements of tea. He nodded pleasantly at her and kept his mouth shut. The grip on the spoon loosened into something that wasn’t a precursor to hurling it straight into his eye. She smiled back, showing just a bit too much tooth.

“Here you go!” Darcy said brightly, handing over a to-go cup. “That’ll be three dollars.”

He gave her a five-dollar bill and left as quickly as he could.

Once out on the street and safely away from both women, he inhaled over the cup. It clearly had chicory in it but also something else that he knew he should recognize. It was good and just barely a drinkable temperature. The smell, taste, and ritual of drinking a hot cup of something made him feel human again -- not to mention the first full night of sleep he’d had in months. If only he’d had the time (and courage) to grab one of the muffins that had been on display.

***

Clint had been in the kitchen since four in the morning. He prepared the day’s baked goods as well as the dough for the next few days. The tiny drying room that had once been a walk-in freezer held hibiscus flowers almost ready to be jarred. He checked on them, trusting Nat and Darcy to have the morning rush well in hand.

Bruce arrived around six. He knocked quietly on the connecting door then slid into the kitchen.

Clint accepted the kiss on his flour-covered cheek. “How was your night?” He looked up to see Bruce share a shy smile. His sharp eyes also caught the marks barely hidden by Bruce’s shirt collar.

“It was good.” He paused. “Really good.”

“Are you in any shape to teach your classes today?” Clint asked. He knew how rough Bruce liked his sex. If the abrasions around his neck and wrists were any indication, Pepper and Tony had not balked at giving him what he wanted.

Bruce shook his head. “Probably not. Can I borrow Natasha?”

“If she wants.” He tried to think through the ramifications of losing Natasha for a day. Maybe Darcy would want more hours. Bruce would help out in the kitchen if Clint asked, but he’d rather the man go get some rest.

***

“You seem to be doing much better.” Dr. Simmons said happily. “Migraines?”

“None.”

She made a note. “Reflux?”

“None.”

“Anything else you’d like to report?” She waved a copy of his file at him. “Pulled a weapon on any unsuspecting agents, recently?”

Phil scowled. She ignored him.

“Agent May tells me that you’ve found a tea house that you like.”

“He makes tea that doesn’t taste like tea.”

Jemma ignored the specific pronoun. “I could use a cuppa. Why don’t you show me?”

Coulson had no desire to bring his doctor to the tea house but knew that her suggestion had the weight of an order. “It’s almost lunch time. We can go now.”

“Lovely!” She smiled. “Fitz! Agent Coulson is going to introduce me to a local café. Care to join?”

A curly blond head popped around the doorframe. “Tea? I’ll grab my coat.”

Phil groaned.

***

Darcy and Clint were standing behind the counter when the three of them came in. Clint grinned broadly at Phil and nodded kindly to the newcomers.

“Earl grey. Milk and sugar. Nothing fancy, please.” Jemma ordered. She turned to look at Fitz. “Same for him, please. But with foam?”

Darcy gave the doctor her most flirtatious grin then shared it with Fitz. “Ever tried a London Fogger? Let me make one up for you. If you don’t like it, I promise it’ll be on the house.”

Fitz nodded, a little stunned by the weight of Darcy’s attention. He let Jemma take over again as he went to find a table.

Coulson had ordered a Rainy Night again as well as one of the homemade wraps that were available for lunch.

“Does your boyfriend want some food?” Darcy asked Jemma.

“Who? Fitz?” She laughed a little awkwardly. “He’s not-” She stopped when Darcy handed her a handwritten list of the day’s lunch options. “We’ll both have the baba ganoush and the split pea soup.”

“Coming right up! Take a seat. We’ll bring it to you.” The barista grinned. She set out the teas to steep and headed into the kitchen. She almost ran into Natasha, who had been peeking through the doors as she waited for her next class to start up. “Those two are so yummy!” Darcy exclaimed. “I could eat them up.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Your thing for dark-haired nerds with blond men who follow them around is very specific and very weird.”

Darcy laughed. “That’s not it at all!”

The other woman raised an eyebrow. “First your roommate and her boyfriend. And now these two.”

“Uh, you saw Thor, he was built! And Jane was smokin’ hot.”

Natasha said nothing as she helped to plate the food. Who was she to deny anyone Darcy’s unbridled enthusiasm in sex-- lots and lots of sex.

***

Clint was flirting. He knew he was flirting, Darcy knew he was flirting, even the two newcomers in labcoats were watching with suppressed smirks; only Phil Coulson was oblivious.

Clint felt only marginally better when the young man, Fitz, nearly choked on a pita when Darcy leaned over far more than was necessary to serve the food. She had managed an angle that just barely missed taking out one of his eyes with her cleavage. It was, surprisingly, the young woman who made the first move.

“Those must give you some back pain.” She said innocently.

Darcy grinned and grabbed a breast in each hand. “What? These?”

Fitz coughed again while Coulson frowned and Jemma smiled.

“Naw. Good bras. All the Lewis girls have ‘large tracts of land’ so we know how to handle them.”

Clint groaned at the Monty Python reference while Leo Fitz finally caught his breath. “Huge. Huge tracts of land.” He corrected.

Darcy nodded. “You’re right, they are huge. And as soft as they look.” With a devilish grin, she scampered away.

Fitz had gone red.

Clint couldn’t think of any reason to stay with the group so he, too, walked away.

On their way out the door, Jemma stopped by the counter. “It’s been a long time for him. Keep trying. He’s a good man.” She handed him a piece of paper. “His number. Call him.”

Clint was embarrassed by how quickly he snatched the scrap off the counter.

Jemma nodded at a spot behind his shoulder. “Perhaps, next time I come in, you could return the favour?”

Clint knew Darcy was cleaning a table behind and to his left. “With pleasure.”

They shared an understanding smile.


End file.
